by

You were
neither a destroyer
nor a preserver
like Shelley’s west wind.
You were
a native signal
to harvest the taro and tapioca.
You were
a swing for the shore,
and my soul too.

You weren’t
just a parching wind
for me.
My still leaves
were energized
by your verve.

Moon shines.
Henna plant blooms.
Ghost of a love loiters
in the old melody
from a CD.
If you blow now,
a heaven will open
as in the past.

Climate has changed
like generation.
Vrishchika and the present
are passive,
poker-faced.
Season of stirring wind
is no more.
An Ockhi of havoc howls
instead.

Vrishchika,- a month in Malayalam calendar, noted for continuous
wind in some parts of Kerala
Ochkhi – name of a cyclone

First published in The Curlew (vol.11, issue IV), UK
Reprinted in The Literary Hatchet (issue #23)

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